


part 11.

by hdarchive



Series: Heartstrings Verse [12]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Nerd!Blaine, Skank!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you fall in love, and sometimes you can’t fall out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	part 11.

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr hopefully you saw my posts explaining my absence. I never meant for it to happen, and I am sososo sorry. Lets hope it never happens again. Thanks for waiting, it means so much.

The hardest part about falling is hitting the ground.

Because it’s inevitable. You have to hit it.

And the higher you fall from, the harder the crash.

There is nothing scarier than suddenly having the world underneath your feet disappear - disappear when you were so sure it was solid. Not having a choice in falling and realizing your eyes are closed and you can’t open them, falling backwards and upside down and having your hands tied -

But he’s hit the ground. He’s hit the ground more times than he can count.

And really, now, maybe the hardest part is realizing how fucked over in love you were - _are._

And there being nothing you can do to stop it.

Hitting the ground and not having a clue who you were before. Not having anything left.

That’s the hardest part.

When you have nothing left, sometimes all you have is yourself. Sometimes all you can do is break. When there’s nobody to catch you, you don’t really have a choice but to split into a million pieces.

There’s nothing you can do but pick yourself up, put yourself together, piece by piece, as long as it takes.

He has to be enough. He has to handle it on his own.

When has he ever had a choice?

-

Legs folded, binder balanced on his lap, Kurt tries to keep his mind on his work. It’s just - he’s using a _pink highlighter._ And pink -

He tries a green one. Because green is not pink and pink is what Blaine thought -

Funny how heartbreak changes everything. From the big things to the little things. The really little things. Like a fucking pink highlighter.

_Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about him._

And looking at the stars.

He tries really hard not to.

Life doesn’t just stop because your heart does. But every aspect of it hurts. You still have to get up everyday, you still have to live, and as you live the days add up and suddenly your future is closer than you thought.

Kurt never thought he had a future. But he can. And he will. They wanted him gone, and now he’s going.

I’ll get out. I’ll exist somewhere else.

Two weeks ago he never would have been caught dead doing extra credit work - but here he is. The past few years have been fading, disappearing, but now, now he gets to leave. If he can just - get past _this_ , he can leave. To a place where nobody and everybody can see him.

He thinks, maybe, to a place where he can turn a corner without living in fear. But now it’s fear of running into somebody else. Quinn and - _don’t think it don’t think about him -_

He can’t even place both of their names in the same sentence without feeling his every nerve burst into flames.

If he’s learned anything from Blaine being his tutor, it’s that he will never become dependant upon one person ever again. He will never feel that much, so much, without it being certain.

He will not feel uncertain things.

The library doesn’t work for him, so he’s been spending day after day in a corner on the bleachers, writing and writing and going out of his mind with equations that he doesn’t really understand, but he’ll never ask for help - not anymore. He can and will do it himself, he has to.

And he’s never been bothered. There’s no one to bother him. Nobody else can see him.

Or so he thought.

The second the bleachers creak, his head is snapping up, panic playing his heart like a drum.

His mind has been in two places, and he’s desperately trying to claw his way out of one of them. He’s not ready to say anything, he’s not ready to even think about it. He’s tried putting the pieces together, tried to make it make sense.

It hurt too much.

He’s not ready to say anything, not to him, not yet, not ever. But he looks, and it’s Quinn, and he doesn’t feel relief but he doesn’t feel a stab through his chest, and that has to count for something.

He can’t think about him, but he has spent every night since it happened trying to think of all the things he wants to say to her. To yell at her.

But he comes up flat. Because he can’t hurt her. And even if he could, it’d be nowhere near the amount of damage she caused. It was some unwritten rule between them, to never hurt each other. The world has done that enough.

She did, though, and that rule was broken. He can’t figure it out, and maybe that’s why it’s killing him. Why would she ever want to hurt him so bad - ?

Quinn’s footsteps echo off the metal, closer and closer, but he keeps his eyes trained on the pages in front of him. Keeps every breath even, calm, doesn’t let his mind wander to things he can’t think about. She sits, not saying a word, and he doesn’t know what to say, he can’t hurt her -

So, anger and bleeding hot hurt mixed with the air in his lungs, he says as quiet as he can, “If you’re not here to explain yourself then please don’t waste my time.”

But he knows anything she does say will only make him more mad.

Kurt turns his head, dares a glance at her face, and there it is - the stabbing in his chest.

Can’t look away, can’t stop from staring into her eyes, because they look so - calm. A frozen sea, empty and unmoving.

Her lips, dark red, twitch, and she better not be smiling - he can’t hurt her with words but he might just _claw_ something - and she sighs, turning to stare at her feet.

Seconds stretch into centuries, and her hands pick and twist at the hem of her skirt. Kurt waits, because maybe he’s not the only one unable to put broken thoughts into complete thoughts and then into words.

“He didn’t believe me,” she eventually says.

And centuries turn into a final eternity.

And patience turns into nothing.

“Why did -” Kurt’s teeth grind together, as if clenching his jaw and curling his fists will stop the mad beat of his heart. Angrier, every thought clashing together and forming venomous words, he spits out, “ _Why did you do it?_ ”

Finally being able to ask the words he’s wanted to ask since the second this all happened and he wishes he could feel a shred of relief.

Quinn’s eyes flash, catching on his once again, and she says louder, raspier, “He _really_ likes you. He didn’t want to believe me.”

Nausea, pain, some form of sickness hits him, like a brick to a window. Shattering, and he has to close his eyes, push his mind somewhere else.

In the end, somehow, someway, he did. He did believe her.

 _Don’t think about him don’t think about him._ “I don’t - I don’t care.”

And it’s like every time he runs that fact through his mind it hurts even more. Reality smashing into his face, pushing itself into his brain, his heart, forcing itself until it’s known and he has to think about it - about him. _He believed her._

He feels her hand above his knee, feels as she takes it away.

How dare - how could - how -

He wants to be mad at her. He is mad at her. Quinn ruined everything. The one thing he’s been sure of.

Maybe that’s it, though. Maybe he was sure of the wrong thing.

He owns the right to be mad at her, it’s all his - they don’t hurt each other and she _did_ and she did it for her own benefit. But Quinn isn’t responsible for what Blaine did in return, and he can’t blame her for that.

Kurt opens his eyes, sucks in a breath, and they look at each other and he tries to see her. Every action has a reason, and he has every right to be mad, but in the end, didn’t she save him?

Anger and pain and something turned rotten aches inside his ribcage, but he wanted answers and here they are.

He can’t blame her for that, but she did what she did and she tore something in two.

Kurt shifts the binder on his lap, tucking the highlighter away and setting it to the side. With her so close it suddenly feels wrong.

With her so close it suddenly feels - he can almost feel her thoughts, like a brush to his skin. The circle of her mind spinning, thinking who knows what. And god, he wants to kill her, he wants to yell at her, but yelling and killing won’t fix what’s been torn. So Kurt sits, and he tries to breathe, and he doesn’t think about him.

“I wasn’t jealous.” Her voice breaks the air, her words white and solid and loud. “I thought I knew what - and I thought you didn’t - it wasn’t fair.”

Nothing in Kurt’s universe has ever been fair. He can’t control a single limb, and he turns, stares at her knees. “Fair?”

Quinn’s body jerks, and then she’s closer, eyes wild and alive as she continues, “Kurt, look at the guy. He’s _so_ \- I thought it was a joke at first, it had to be a joke. But then you said you loved him - and I _knew_ it wasn’t it, it wasn’t _that_.”

People become friends because they like each other, and people stick together because they make each other stronger, better.

How they’ve made it this long is a mystery to him.

He knows she’s been hurt. If you can’t see that when you look at Quinn Fabray then you’re blind. But the thing about them is that they don’t hurt each other. They don’t do anything - they’re just there.

Maybe that’s why this kind of betrayal burns hot. It came out of nowhere. It came out of some form of twisted hatred - but they don’t _hurt_ each other.

And it doesn’t add up, it doesn’t make sense -

“What were you hoping for then? What outcome did you want?” Kurt spits, voice scraping and sharp. Tears form against his will, and they feel like acid over his eyes, but he can’t blink them away because it’s unfair, it’s so unfair. He doesn’t get to control _anything_. “Was it this?”

His eyes land on her hands, working and weaving together, pulling at her sleeves until her fingers are covered.

“Once I said it, I regretted it.” Quinn says, almost silently, her voice caught on something. “I had no idea there was actually something there until it was done.”

It’s cold outside but her words are what freeze time. Every second stuck in place, the planet screeching to a halt.

And it’s once the world stops spinning, once his heart stops beating, that he feels the rest of himself break. A crack right through the center of him, and the feeling of panic because suddenly something vital is missing.

Because now it’s official. He had something real, and it’s gone.

He never even got a chance.

Kurt doesn’t want the world to keep going, not now, not when there’s a piece of himself missing. A piece that he’ll never find because it’s been tossed into the ocean, sunken to the bottom. A jewel, maybe, that he never got to admire.

Autopilot kicks in, and his voice isn’t his own, cold and dead and missing, and he asks, “My life doesn’t affect you at all. Remind me again how you - how you benefit from this?”

Quinn pushes her hair back, raking through the mess of pink and blonde. He watches as she blinks her eyes, quickly, before shutting them fully and sighing. He’s never seen her so - flustered, frantic -

Physical evidence of her regret, maybe, hopefully -

“I just - I didn’t get it. Why do you get what I can’t have? I’m the one who had _everything_ , and _I’m_ the one left with nothing?”

Oh.

Kurt clasps his hands together, either to stop from strangling her or to stop from shaking.

Oh - they’ve been close, but he’s realizing now . . they’ve been close but never next to each other. Because she’s always needed somebody beneath her. Somebody who had less than her, because she had everything taken away.

And then he had Blaine - _don’t think about it about him don’t_ \- and he had more.

Thoughts connect and cling together, dust being blown off the bigger picture, and he thinks;

Maybe Quinn wasn’t trying to tear apart his world. Maybe she was trying to keep her own together.

It’s when everything almost makes sense that they both fall silent. He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, exhales and coughs to clear his throat. And he is so, so tired of being hurt by the least expected of people.

He will never feel uncertain things ever again.

“I really ruined things, didn’t I?” Quinn eventually asks.

He sighs, and it’s the truth, but there’s nothing to be done about it. “It’s fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

For the first time in weeks he has to choke back a laugh, hard and jagged in his throat. “But the truth is so much worse, Quinn. And I like to think I’m above it.”

She laughs, and it’s just as pained. “Is saying sorry even worth it?”

Words are empty cases for actions that won’t be done, and sorry is a hollow shell for something that can’t be repaired. And he’s been wounded by words far too many times now. It’d be so nice if they could just . . lose their meaning.

“Sorry is just a word,” Kurt says, quietly, fully breathing for the first time all day. “I’ve come to realize that words don’t ever mean what they’re supposed to.”

He can sense the change in her expression, the scornful tint to her eyes. Almost defensively, she sneers, “Well I _am_. And if I could fix it, I would.”

And if he really knows her, which he really doesn’t, then that could be saying worlds.

“It’s fine,” he lies again.

There’s nothing to be fixed. I’ve repaired myself.

She stares at him for a few seconds longer before standing, movements echoing off the metal. She takes a few steps down the rows, and he wonders how many more times they’re going to do this before they’re both gone.

And he really doesn’t know her. Where is Quinn going, what is she doing? He really doesn’t know her, not like him -

“If it makes you feel any better,” Quinn calls to him, and there’s that wicked sharp smile of hers. “He seems pretty miserable without you. I saw him hanging out with the lunch ladies yesterday.”

It doesn’t help. In fact, it might set him back ten hundred steps.

Kurt looks to his hands, closes them tightly, mumbles, “No, he’s always done that.” and smiles.

And how strange is it that a smile could feel like a stick through the heart.

-

He was sure he stopped feeling hope a long, long time ago. There’s no point to hope - a feeling that produces no results, nothing but an imaginary surface. And when you leap, when you jump, when you think you’re about to land on it -

Nothing. Hope is just that.

But he still feels it.

Kurt knows he shouldn’t, yet he still stands by his locker, with disbelief and - that feeling he shouldn’t feel - weighing down on him. Apparently spending day after day studying by himself on the bleachers pays off. Who knew.

In his logical mind he knows, realistically, that it’s done. All the hope in the world can’t change that. It’s done and it’s over. A good grade means nothing, not when it comes to that. It’s time to move on. It was time to move on days. weeks, years - _never never never_ \- ago.

Just, maybe, if he hopes enough, if he feels enough, then maybe for whatever reason . . things will work out. Like maybe time could rewind itself, go back all those days, and then the universe could shift, and then maybe he wouldn’t be so _hurt_.

Maybe the universe could give him a moment of clarity, because right now not a thing makes sense.

He’s replayed every word Quinn said to him, every word he said to him, tried to figure it out and not a goddamn thing makes sense.

The crowded halls have become white noise and blank space to him, he hardly notices the countless bodies brushing past him. How could he? When all he can ever notice is -

His hands freeze where they’re placed, one on the door and one on his bag, shaking but not shaking and being so afraid to move or breathe or think - _don’t think it_ -

But he’s right there. A body in the distance, a person in a crowd, but he’s all Kurt can see and he can’t look away. Magnet drawn to steel, and he _can’t look away_ no matter how hard he tries.

Days and days and days of rebuilding the walls Blaine broke, trying his hardest to never think about him, trying and trying to get past it, to repair himself -

He thought he put himself back together.

Blaine stands at the end of the hall and Kurt can’t look away, and so every piece cracks. The strings break and the threads come undone, and he realizes he put himself back together wrong.

Kurt shuts his eyes, forces a breath, though he’d much prefer passing out right now. He was so sure that his heart would never beat so fast again but here he is, pulse whacking and thumping and screaming, the whole world must hear it -

In his logical mind, which he’s learning might not exist, he knows he shouldn’t live in fear of seeing another person. He’s past that. He isn’t that anymore.

But this is Blaine.

Instinct or pure insanity drives him away, slamming the locker shut louder than he should, and his footsteps have never been so fast but not fast enough.

Kurt knows, though, logical or not, that because the universe just seems to hate him, Blaine is most likely following him.

What is he going to do? Run away? Drive far and never step foot in this school again? Wasn’t this coming, didn’t he want this? A moment of clarity, just one, a few seconds for things to make sense - ?

Mind running over and under, backwards and forwards, and he doesn’t know what to think or do. This is real, this is happening, he’s not prepared or guarded enough to look at him, let alone talk to him.

He can’t break anymore, there’s hardly anything left -

Kurt gasps, breath white in front of his face, cold air feeling hot on his skin. And he can hear footsteps, quick and then slow and then nothing.

Who is the magnet and who is the steel? Can’t they just - leave each other alone?

But pride is a rock that he has to swallow, and it’ll hurt, but he doesn’t have a choice, he never did.

Facing his car, he draws his shoulders back, lifts his head, and waits until he feels something besides maddening weakness in his bones.

He’s survived this long, and he’s survived worse than heartbreak.

Before he collapses, which is likely to happen soon, Kurt turns around, and he doesn’t dare let anything show on his face. If he can hold one thing together, let it be this . .

Blaine - Blaine - oh god, that stupid - you’re such an idiot, Kurt, how could he ever want you, and why did you ever want him -

Deep breath in, out, feeling every broken piece of him stab his side, and he asks, willing himself to stay calm and quiet, “ _What?_ ”

Which isn’t what he wanted to say, not by far. _I want you. I like you. I love you -_

Never _I hate you_. No matter how much he wants to think and say that, it would never be possible.

A million things could happen, a million possibilities, but of course Blaine chooses to smile. Weak, small, but there and still bright and still ground-shattering.

He hasn’t heard Blaine’s voice out loud for a long time, but Blaine speaks and it’s - it’s like hearing a song you haven’t listened to in a while but still knowing every lyric and note -

Blaine says, voice low and soft and quiet, “Hi-hi - hello, Kurt Hu-”

And then nothing was alright.

Nothing in the world could be more piercing. A physical stab between his ribs, through his lungs, and Kurt slams his jaw shut, teeth together, and curls his hands into fists. Wanting to close his eyes but knowing he’d still be here, dealing with this, walking straight into a storm.

He shakes his head, quickly so Blaine can’t see the break across his face.

They aren’t that anymore.

“No,” Kurt says through his teeth, hoping his voice sounds like thorns because that’s how it feels. “You don’t - you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Blaine’s smile disappears, as if he never actually wore it, and Kurt watches as his expression shifts to confused and cold. “What do I call you then?”

No more walls, only having a broken and battered shield but still raising it, still trying to protect himself. He’s not entirely sure where these words are coming from, where the courage to say them comes from, but he says, quick and sharp, “You don’t call me anything.”

There have to be more words, there has to be something else to say, but his mind goes white and his tongue goes numb. There are, in fact, other words -

Somehow Blaine drops, shoulders and spine and spirit, sinking lower, and for a second he looks lost.

How come he gets to do this? It wasn’t Blaine whose insides were unraveled and tangled up and left to the side - and why does he get to look so hurt and why does Kurt even care -

Things don’t make sense. Does he really want them to?

“Kurt -” Blaine starts, breaking. “- I -”

A sound that hurts too much, and he’s survived this long because he could escape, he could fade, but that’s never worked with Blaine.

His own voice splintering, a thousand pins in his throat, he chokes, “I’m-I’m going to leave now.”

But he doesn’t move a muscle, because that stupid goddamn feeling of _hope_ \- strong and red and alive in his veins -

Blaine moves, one step after another until he’s close enough to reach out to. His hand comes up, as if to shake Kurt’s, but he quickly drops it. And he sounds pleading, almost rehearsed, as he says, “Kurt, I don’t deserve a second of your time. But please, give me a moment?”

Maybe Kurt was made with buttons, and Blaine was made to push them - it works, Kurt’s shield shoved away, raw nerves exposed, because he _has_ been waiting, hoping, for a moment.

Looking at Blaine, fully, every part in front of him, and he sees - his glasses, his clothes, the way his suspenders match his fucking socks - he sees all this but he knows, with or without them, that’s not all, that’s not it.

Kurt didn’t fall in love with that -

He laid himself out for Blaine. This entire time he thought, maybe, Blaine could see - something, and he trusted him, and wanted him, and _let_ him. But Blaine never really did.

If he did, they wouldn’t be here, he never would have purposely hurt Kurt, he never would have believed a single word out of Quinn’s mouth, and then this rotting love in Kurt’s chest wouldn’t be so painful.

Stupid, stupid, stupid why did you think he did, he never did and he never will. Never feel things that are uncertain, Kurt - you can’t -

“I didn’t go on the date.”

Kurt flinches, can’t stop from scowling, and he throws his arms around his chest, looks to the ground instead. He doesn’t want to hear a word, he doesn’t want to be here -

Blaine continues, stare still fixed on Kurt - but having Blaine’s eyes on him feels so wrong now - “I don’t - I never liked him.”

It’s as if Kurt had a checklist of things that would somehow make sense - brainwash, blackmail, insanity, a concussion maybe, anything besides reality - and Blaine’s words are like nails against a chalkboard.

He almost laughs, strings plucked and pulled too hard already and he’s felt every feeling except whatever this is, but he holds it in. To his arms, head shaking, he mutters dryly, “That’s great.”

Blaine’s stare sharpens, drawing Kurt’s gaze back up - and he’s not expecting Blaine to look so affronted, but his eyes are wide and eyebrows drawn and his arms are folded together -

“Kurt, you -” Blaine - _scoffs_ , annoyed.

A strike through the whole list, any list, and Kurt’s red hope turns into burning anger -

“What -” Kurt snaps, one arm down to his side, the other pushing a hand through his hair. “Is there something you’d like me to say? Sorry your date didn’t work out, better luck next time?”

Half of Blaine’s expression shifts, confused, one eyebrow raising and any trace of hurt is clean wiped off. “Why are you so -”

“Why am I so _what?_ Mad?” And he really doesn’t get where this fuel is coming from, he’s been running on empty but he can’t reign it in, god, he doesn’t get it _he doesn’t get it -_

Blaine’s hands fly up, circulate his head, and he doesn’t get it, yelling, “I can’t read minds, Kurt! That’d be awesome but -”

Every part of Kurt stops, shuts down, all of him boiling down into one single thought.

You really didn’t know me at all.

I thought you saw -

And he can’t expect him to know everything. Kurt can’t be mad at him for never wanting him. There are things in life you just can’t choose. That’s not what this is about, it’s not -

But to make somebody believe, to make them feel, to make their skin turn blue and green and red and pink, to suddenly make the whole world shine -

Only for it to all be pretend, to be ripped away from some dream that you never knew you wanted in the first place. And Kurt let him in, and he was so sure that Blaine knew that wasn’t something Kurt could do. Not anymore. But he did, he did it for him.

And Blaine doesn’t get it.

Finally planning his words, a question that’s been etched into the remains of his stupid fucking heart, Kurt asks, “Why did you believe her?”

It’s a few seconds before Blaine’s face changes, falling flat. “What?”

“Quinn.” Everything from his vocal chords to his fingertips begin to shake. As if asking that one question somehow peeled off his last line of defense, and now he’s left shivering in the cold. “What did she tell you?”

The universe doesn’t shift backwards like he wants it to, but it slows. He’s not sure what he wants to hear and what he will hear.

Blaine falters, mouth opening and closing, rubbing over his eyes before sighing out - and if he was planning out what to say to Kurt before, he definitely never thought this part through - “She said - she said somebody like you would never like somebody like me.”

Kurt’s eyes are closed, shut tight, fingernails biting his skin to keep him grounded, grounded, can’t escape -

“That you were ‘no good for me’ and that I couldn’t -” his voice softens, breaks, oh god it breaks - “That I couldn’t help you, and that you wouldn’t change. And I-I didn’t understand why she was saying any of that, especially when we’ve never exchanged words before, but then she -”

Using courage he really doesn’t have, Kurt opens his eyes, watches as Blaine rubs over his face, and you can physically see the pieces of him chipping away. Whatever pain he’s feeling laying hidden underneath.

“Then she said you were - that there were others. Many . . others. That there always have been. And I didn’t know what to - to think, Kurt.”

Maybe his eyes are shut, maybe the entire world has just gone dark, but he can’t see and his every breath hurts and he can’t control the way he says, nearly sobbing, “How could you - believe that -”

“Because - Kurt, listen to me. I was okay with waiting, I’m good at waiting. I-I thought you were almost there, and I wasn’t going to push you.”

Kurt was sure he reached the bottom of whatever pit he had fallen into. But it’s the way Blaine says it, each word sounding like a promise, each word sounding like exactly what he wanted to hear before any of this happened -

And he falls a little bit more, because this did happen and it’s _still_ happening.

“But then Quinn said that, and I couldn’t help but think - maybe there’s a reason why you never wanted anybody to know. Maybe there’s a reason you never said yes.”

I did say yes, I did - I was going to -

Somehow, hearing this side of the story, then combining it with his own, it’s a completely different book, and he knows he’s not going to like the ending.

I would never do any of that. There is no one else. I’d never do that, I love - I’d never do that, not then, not now, and why can’t you see that? Seven billion people in this world and I only ever thought of you.

But you only knew how to hurt me.

“I thought -” He can’t speak, throat closing up, holding on to every secret that he can never let go of.

“And I felt _stupid_. I was okay with waiting, but I would have been waiting forever. I felt so stupid, Kurt, like everyone in the world knew but me. So I - I wanted to be on your level. I wanted you to think I never felt that way in the first place.”

Hope - dying out, dead, but then igniting from some dark place, sparkling and bright and Kurt wishes it would just go away forever. That stupid spark of hope that he still feels, because if he’s putting the pieces together properly, then Blaine really did, at one point - want him -

Wanted him, liked him - don’t even think it, Kurt - but then he went and -

Hurt him. Purposely picked up a knife to make him bleed. Hearing things that should have never been said and choosing to believe them - and then knowing just enough about him to know exactly how to hurt him -

To be on his level.

But there is no level, there was only ever Blaine - and Blaine still doesn’t get it -

“I see.”

He doesn’t have the strength to say anything else. There is nothing _to_ say.

It’s when Blaine takes one more step forward that Kurt feels the shock of the ground underneath his feet, the bitter air all around him, the sudden reminder of where they are. And he backs up, backs up and hits his car, and Blaine keeps coming forward -

Blaine says, but Kurt hardly hears it, “I’m sorry.”

Words never mean what they’re supposed to, and sorry doesn’t fix a thing.

“Okay,” Kurt whispers, quickly, looking away. He wants things to be okay, hope sparking and flashing somewhere inside of him. But words never mean what they’re supposed to.

Blaine doesn’t come any closer, and Kurt keeps looking at him as long as he can handle before finding his keys, opening his door and leaving as quick as possible.

If anything, he feels - scrubbed raw, torn apart, crumpled together and burned, more confused than he was before.

He was managing. He was holding himself together with glue and tape and hope - and now it’s all laying on the ground, ruined.

Now he knows, but he doesn’t know Blaine, and Blaine doesn't know him. Two people who have all the power in the world to hurt each other, but no power to help each other.

Two people that are not a match.

-

He was going to be okay. He just had to - forget. To erase any trace of him and of _them_ from his mind.

Pretend it never happened. Pretend that he hasn’t been falling in love with somebody he could never have - with him - for the past few months. Pretend and pretend until one day he’s somewhere in the future and he can hardly remember that voice in his head.

Days passed and he was fine, he had to keep going, because he got his moment and all it did was complicate things more, and he had no other choice but to be okay. Waiting for his colours to fade back into grey, black, just like they always were and just how they’ll stay. He was going to be okay.

And then his phone rang. And maybe he still hasn’t changed the ringtone he assigned Blaine, and maybe his respiratory system stopped functioning for a complete minute.

Then that future he’s been imagining, the one where he’s alright, complete, managing, the one that didn’t have Blaine -

Vanished. A picture going up in flames. And he really wasn’t going to be okay, and so now, he really isn’t okay.

The sky is blotched with clouds, dark blue and dark grey, not a star in sight. Kurt sits on the stairs of the front porch and he’s lost count of the cigarettes he’s smoked - his throat hurts, but maybe it’s from something else.

It’s not fair, at all, that he doesn’t have a say in this. You don’t get to choose how you hurt or how bad it’s going to feel or for how long.

He’s never been in love before. When does he fall out of it?

Love wasn’t ever something he thought about. He never thought it would happen to him, not even when it was staring him right in the face. Now he can’t look away.

If he has to wake up every morning only to put reality back into place, because dreams shake everything up and make things seem better than they are, then he really, really doesn’t like being in love.

Most of all, he wonders when hope will finally go quiet, go extinct. There is no moment, that moment doesn’t exist. It’s over. There is no choice for things to go back. It’s over and there is no rift in the universe that will let them pass. It’s done.

Ignoring the phone call was somehow the easiest thing he’s ever done. He promised himself to never hurt like that again, and at least he can count on himself to come through.

The silence of the night has become familiar, but the sound of being alone is suddenly - not. And he’s spent years by himself, but not like this. So when he hears a car, he sits up straighter, head tilted, waiting, because his dad is asleep and there can’t be anybody else.

Thrumming under his skin, a current that’s gaining speed and flowing and soon he’ll be flooded - hope -

For a split second he can’t believe what he’s seeing, there’s no way this is real. He’s not sleeping, so he can’t be dreaming, but if he is please wake up please wake up - I don’t know how to put this reality back together -

The engine of Blaine’s car cuts out and quietness tries to overwhelm him. A length of time where he doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, just waits and waits as the door opens, as footsteps sound on the ground and then in the snow, closer and then Kurt has no choice but to shake out his breath.

He stands, legs wobbling with how heavy he feels. It was supposed to be over. And so he doesn’t have a single defense ready, weapons dropped, too weak to pick them up.

What the hell does he say, what the hell can he say, why is he here - ?

It was easy to ignore that call, but he _has_ to do this, so he spits out, quickly before he stops and says something else, “ _There’s a reason I didn’t answer_ -”

Blaine walks faster, maybe not hearing, stepping through the night and up to the steps. “Kurt, I’m - I’m -”

Directly over him, with as much force into his voice as he can manage, he nearly shouts, “You can’t just - show up whenever you please! What were you going to do, ring the doorbell - ?”

But once he’s under the dim porchlight, everything can be seen.

The tear that runs through him, the red of his eyes, something stolen from inside.

“- what -”

His voice is lost, drowned in the night, drowned in his own mind. Something is wrong, and even if he refused to look at him he’d know.

Head turned down, shoulders - falling, shaking, and Blaine’s quiet but Kurt can hear it, clear as day, the most silent of cries.

“I’m -” and then he can hear Blaine’s rasping voice, holding something back. “I’m sorry.”

Kurt stands tall, stiff, digging his fingers into the sleeves of his shirt. He hardly knows how to be strong for himself, he can’t handle the weight of any more destruction. He asks, slowly, fear and anticipation loaded into every word, “. . what happened?”

There isn’t any way he’s here for _that_ , it’s been days, it’s over, Blaine isn’t here to kiss everything better.

Blaine is still shaking, running a hand through his hair, nearly free of gel, loose curls between his fingers. “I don’t - I don’t know what to - to do -”

The shaking earth stabilizes, and Kurt’s sucked back down, into whatever black hole this is. A steel rod striking through his spine, pinning him to the spot, making him lock eyes with Blaine. Stuck to his spot but the rest of the world is going mad around them, and Blaine sounds broken, and Kurt’s lost in all of it but Blaine’s _broken_ \- and that steel rod turns to ice and it’s a different kind of panic he feels.

“What happened?” he repeats, louder, colder.

It’s over. It’s over. There is nothing left.

Blaine breathes in quickly, rapid breathes, and he rubs his eyes and wipes his nose on his sleeve and breathes even faster -

The night isn’t silent anymore, but there’s not a sound in the world, the tension and fear that’s been packed into the sky is all Kurt can hear.

“I didn’t get in.”

Dread is a swift tide that immediately replaces tension and fear. A tidal wave that he can and will drown in.

Vocal chords scraped clean, bare, he says, “- what?”

He hardly registers the fact that Blaine is walking past him, movements small and fragile as he climbs and sits on the stairs. His legs are trembling, hands trying to find a place to rest before bringing them together, bouncing them between his knees.

It’s not right. This boy in front of him is the same one who aimed a gun to his back and a knife to his chest, and it’s over. But Kurt finds he has no control as he sits next to him, distance between them, tucking his hands under his arms to stop from - reaching out.

It’s over.

“I got home, and my parents had the letter,” Blaine finally says, and his voice fractures. “I didn’t get in.”

In a matter of seconds, it’s not.

You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. But this - he knows this. Of course he knows this. He can practically see the end of Blaine’s world crashing into him.

Did you know you can actually see an entire future being ripped out from somebody?

And how do you catch somebody from that?

Blaine looks up, throat moving as he swallows, breathes, cries. “I was so _sure_ \- I thought I had it. I was so sure -"

None of this explains why he’s here. They aren’t anything, they never were, but Blaine is here because his world is ending and all he has -

He doesn’t have Kurt. But he’s here, he’s here, and Kurt can’t turn him away -

When did this come to needing each other? Never _having_ each other but so desperately needing that other hand.

Two people who have all the power in the world to hurt each other . . but what is this?

He knows he should say _no, go away, I don’t care._ But he’d be lying.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to see me, or speak to me, I know we’re - but I had nowhere else to go. My parents can hardly look at me -”

Being all someone has, Kurt never thought that’d be him. He’s not Blaine’s though, he never was, and as much as Kurt wanted to be, it’s not that anymore.

Something in Blaine slices in two, maybe an artery, maybe his heart. He curls forward, furiously rubbing at his eyes as he chokes and breathes shakily.

Kurt doesn’t have a word to say, no clue in his mind of what to do. He was never, ever expecting this. Not even when they were - when they were them. When Kurt was there for him in whatever way he could be, touching and kissing because he was falling in love, and he wanted him more than anything else in that one moment, and then Blaine kissed him despite ev-

“It’s - it’s okay.”

This is Blaine’s life. If he really did know one thing about him - if anyone knew anything about him - it’d be that each step of his life has been leading to this. And now it’s a level he can’t reach. A step he wants to take but can’t get to. A step taken away.

Sitting there in the cold, side by side with a novel full of differences between them, he waits in minutes and minutes of silence before working up the strength to free one hand, and he knows that he shouldn’t do it, but it’s not his mind controlling this - and he touches the inside of Blaine’s arm.

And touching him again . .

Stars and no clouds, bright blue skies, Venus and the sun -

He quickly moves it away, but not far. He wants to help him, he couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

Then doesn’t that mean, that maybe there’s a reason for that spark of hope. He’s here, and this could be the moment he’s been waiting for.

“I need -”

Blaine’s closer, right next to him, sounding hungry and desperate, and this isn’t what he’s been waiting for, it isn’t. Blaine’s hand hovers over his arm before landing on his shoulder, and they’re next to each other and the universe, the galaxy - stars exploding and imploding and black holes and - “I need to -”

No. No. No -

Kurt slides to the side, arms out and braced, pushing him away even though it’s the last thing he’d ever want to do. “Blaine -”

I could kiss you now and it’d all be over. Except I don’t want it to be over. Not when there are holes and shreds and wounds that haven’t healed yet.

He does, however, want it to be okay. He does. He can lie and deny for all of eternity, but that’s one he can’t keep up.

It _isn’t_ okay, though. Pain doesn’t cancel out pain.

Kurt stands, looks anywhere but him and moves up the steps. He doesn’t have a plan, but every heartbeat puts him somewhere else, and he’ll just have to follow that.

Blaine looks up at him, blinking back tears, no direction in his gaze, this way and then that way, but never going far from Kurt’s. When he looks at Kurt, can’t he see what he did?

Kurt shrugs his shoulders, white breath and shivering lungs, trying to keep the rest of him inside. Can’t say much, not without revealing how many bullet wounds he has. Needs Blaine to say something - needs him to say that.

Instead Blaine says, and almost sounds sincere, “I’m so sorry.”

Kurt bites his lip, keeping it in, keeping it in, and sighs out, “Don’t be. Not about this.”

“I’m not talking about this.”

He bites down so hard he could bleed, closes his eyes so tightly he might never see again, and wraps his arms around himself as if that could - detain every feeling.

Does he get it yet?

Kurt exhales, a calming rhythm. The next step is -

Blaine is still breathing too quickly, shaking, eyes red and wet and it’s cold out and there is only one door in front of him right now, everything else has been closed. And Kurt could close it on his face, just like he did to him, but that’s not part of his formula. That isn’t something he could do.

“Do you, uh, want to come in?”

It hurts, every aspect of it, both sides of the stories. But this is Blaine. And he loves him.

If he’s been waiting for a moment for everything to make sense, this has to be it.

Really, he’s learned a lot more than Blaine thinks he has, a lot more than he thought himself.

Because the world can crumble, you will feel like your feet will never touch solid ground again. It’s hard. But that’s just it - it’s hard. It’s not permanent. As quick as worlds can break, they can build. And they can be better.

Unexpected, strange, scary, but - better.

Blaine doesn’t even know he taught that to Kurt.

He doesn’t know how to make him see that, that the world in his head might not be what he’s destined for. That there is something better, if you just . . try, and look, and see.

Blaine nods, sniffles, and follows him up the deck and into the house.

His next step is unknown, he never thought he’d be here. How can he make him feel - better - when his own world is still shattered glass on the road?

If they can - help each other, somehow, someway, like the way they’ve done since the very beginning. All those months ago when Kurt was afraid of losing control and when he was afraid of people and what _they_ would do to him -

How they always help each other.

He thinks about the other lesson Blaine inadvertently taught him.

I will not feel uncertain things.

At one point maybe we were on the same page of this book, but now - you see something I’m not, and I don’t want to see you.

I want to say it but I can’t, you wanted to hurt me. You need to say it first.

But if he thinks about hurt and he thinks about love, and he still wants to kiss Blaine, then which one is really stronger . . ?

“My dad is sleeping, so we’ll have to be -” his voice trails off, eyes to the floor, nervously threading his fingers together.

This won’t repair the damage of a blown apart future. This won’t make that letter change, Blaine won’t get into his school, and Kurt really should not care at all.

If he had to weigh the feelings, he knows which one would be _heavier_.

Kurt nearly misses the first step of the stairwell, fumbling and grasping for something, refusing to reach out for his hand. You need to say it first.

“We could -” Kurt clears his throat, feeling flushed and hot and - and ready but not ready. “Upstairs?”

Waiting for that final moment, you need to say it, to say what I can’t say - I can wait -

Blaine doesn’t follow, staring at the wall beside him, still lost in that world that doesn’t exist.

And Kurt feels the rest of his blood pour out, draining. He’s been telling himself it’s over and now it’s not, not for him, but if it never really _began_ for Blaine -

He’s such an idiot, he’s never been so fucking stupid. Never feel uncertain things and here you are, offering it to him again with open arms and your entire heart -

“If you dont want to -” Kurt starts, acidic and burning.

Blaine quickly turns around, eyes meeting his. Red but dry, hollow but looking. And he - smiles, small and transparent. “I do. I do.”

“Okay.”

It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. He really is going to be okay.

Blaine wipes at his eyes, coughing weakly, and then he’s trailing up, step after step, right behind Kurt.

Hurt and love. One heavier and stronger than the other.

But they go so well together, don’t they?

-

An hour ago and he was one hundred percent positive he’d never feel Blaine’s lips against his again.

He was positive he’d never want to.

It’s insane, it’s insane, out of his mind crazy and something he should not be doing but he is. Anything to dull the pain, a kiss like a pill, to swallow down and wait, until the rest of you stops hurting.

A pill he’s grown addicted to, needing, and he wanted it to be over but how does he continue without it?

It doesn’t have to mean a thing. He denied it back then and he can deny it again. He might not choose how he feels but he can choose how to hide it. Not until you tell me - not until you realize -

Closing the door softly behind them, the entire world melted down to one room, four walls, not enough space but too much - and Kurt keeps his distance, sitting on the edge of his bed.

He looks around the room, afraid maybe that he’s left something out, a mess that needs to be cleaned, books and clothes but - but Blaine has already seen everything that he could. He saw nothing.

How does he make him feel - better? Why does he even want to? There is no fix for this, no fix for that.

He stares at Blaine’s feet as he paces the room, listens to his every sigh. Unsure movements, stopping and starting, waiting for him to do something. _Why why why -_

“I tried so hard, Kurt.” The new definition of _disappointment_ , Blaine’s voice wracked with thorns and pins, needles and cut up thread. “I - I don’t understand. What did I do wrong - ?”

He’s so stupidly in love, that’s why.

“I feel _so_ -” Blaine starts to yell but cuts himself off. Turning to face the door, he hesitates, then continues, voice lowered, “I feel so worthless.”

Kurt’s response is automatic, the entire truth, “You’re not worthless.”

This entire time we’ve been - doing _this_ \- what did you think we were? You thought - I thought - you thought it was something else, clearly, but what did you think you meant to me?

He sounds far away, on another planet, words and voice lost somewhere in between. “What do I do?”

Which is what Kurt’s been asking himself for a very long time.

“I don’t know - you’ll figure it out.” You don’t have a choice.

Having him here, close, but knowing there is no fix for anything. There has to be a way. Maybe if he’s enough, maybe if he helps, then maybe he’ll see -

“I thought I - I had it, I had it -”

Louder, snapping, _do you really not get what you meant to me_ , he repeats, “You’ll figure it out.”

Because it’s not over. He wouldn’t be here if it were over. Kurt wouldn’t be giving him his heart on a stick if it were over.

Kurt keeps his eyes trained on his hands, folded together, afraid. He’ll never be enough. He’s known it all along, really, that if he were to ever be visible for someone he’d have to be sure. And he was sure, he was certain, and he wasn’t _enough_.

“Kurt?”

Not enough now, not enough but he can try -

“No.” Kurt says, twisted in his throat. “We, um, this is about you, and -”

As much as he wanted a moment of clarity, they don’t exist. And talking has proven ineffective when words don’t match their definitions and his voice cuts his throat like a razor blade - he can’t say it, but if Blaine does - if he can help him through this and then just . . make him see.

He can’t breathe when Blaine gets closer, presses the pause button on his heart when Blaine sits next to him. The world’s four walls continue to push in, creating a box that’s just them. He doesn’t look at Blaine, just senses as Blaine looks in every direction before settling on his face.

Sounding like himself, or perhaps just sounding like what Kurt thought he was, Blaine asks, “I’ll figure it out?”

Hope or strength he’s not sure but it surges up his neck and he lifts his head, meets Blaine’s eyes. They’re talking about different things, but maybe - the same thing. “I hope so.”

Trying and wanting to be enough and helping and he’s so stupidly in love -

But not hopelessly.

Ready and not ready, ready for something else but not that. Uncertain things beat so much _harder_ than known things.

Blaine is there, close, and gone is fear and lose, gone is the boy that nobody knows but Kurt. It’s just - wild green, burning hazel, a lock on a target.

Blaine swallows, waits, and Kurt stares back just as hard. _It’s okay now._

Then hands are on his face, and a stick of dynamite goes off in his chest, but he keeps breathing and moving and when Blaine leans forward, he meets him. He doesn’t have a choice.

Kissing him is being held underwater, kissing him is feeling the sun after the rain, kissing him is a remedy for heartbreak.

Eyes closed, feeling the way Blaine moves against him, fierce and fast like he can’t get enough, like he’ll never get it again -

A hand trailing down, landing on his side, fingers spreading and gripping. The ice down his spine has crackled, spreading through every vein, and the moment Kurt breaks the kiss Blaine pushes in, pushing him down. Kurt’s logical mind is trying to climb out of his body to physically stop him from going any further, but since when has he listened to it?

Blaine needs this, Blaine needs something solid underneath him to stop him from dropping. And maybe that’s why Kurt doesn’t feel so trapped when they land together on the bed, finding each other’s mouths and hands finding hands.

Like they fit together.

Like this could be the most natural thing in the world if there weren’t several other chapters full of faults.

Even with his eyes closed and body covered, his mind runs free, and he realizes, that this pill isn’t a cure. It can feel good, it can feel great, and maybe Blaine needs this right now, and maybe Kurt’s insane to give it to him.

It doesn’t solve everything. Band-aids don’t heal cuts if the cuts need stitches.

Blaine’s on top of him, one hand sliding to cup his jaw, tilting his head up and kissing deeper, deeper, reaching something Kurt thought was finished. Hot breath and wet lips and his tongue - and there is no better medicine than this.

They shift around the bed, and Kurt’s arm lands on paper, crackling and crunching under his weight. He pulls away, turning his head to face what he just hit - and to the side is a textbook, pen resting in the middle, notes and more notes and evidence that he’s been trying -

He darts his whole arm out, shoving it off the bed, and reconnects their broken kiss.

But sudden coldness isn’t what he’s expecting, Blaine peeling back, resting on his heels.

With Blaine there, and with Kurt underneath, he feels picked apart, broken shards of his heart sticking out.

Blaine’s voice is sand and rocks as he asks, hesitating, “Were you doing homework?”

Guilt and shame blackens his gut, and Kurt looks away, sighing. “ _No_ \- yes. It’s not important.”

Blaine twists his neck, staring at the part of the floor where Kurt shoved his books. He puts his hands up, twitching and unsure before they cover his face.

Kurt’s mind flips into overdrive, grasping at pieces to try and make sense of what’s happening, can they go back to feeling good, what happened, he’s not ready -

Blaine slips them away, settling his hands on either leg, and when he exhales it’s the sound of exhaustion and confusing finally being - cleared.

“I’m an idiot.”

Spending every day trying to shake off his dreams, spending every day hoping for a moment.

He blinks over and over again, tears at boiling point, burning and he can’t let them show.

For this is the moment. It has to be.

Where Blaine realizes -

Where Blaine gets it.

He looks up, and breathing isn’t possible, not when Blaine’s looking at him - as if for the first time. As if finding some missing piece to a puzzle he’s been trying to figure out.

“I’m - you - Kurt, I’m so sorry.”

Words don’t mean what they’re supposed to, but maybe this means more.

And Kurt’s broken shield crumbles, dust and dirt but nothing that can’t be washed away. Waiting for this moment for so long, knowing he was never going to get it, knowing it didn’t exist, but finally having it and he doesn’t care if he cries, if his heart’s been replaced with a bomb, this is an impossible moment and he _doesn’t care anymore._

Blaine dives in, covering him completely, hands like cuffs around his wrists, pinning them up by his head. Each kiss an apology, always followed by _sorry_ , and Kurt could wash away in them but he’ll never be clean.

I’m not that. I’m not just this. You’re not that. You’re more than this.

Goosebumps raise as Blaine’s fingers skim over his stomach, a strip of skin exposed with his shirt hitched up. Kurt lets him. There is no one else.

And as Kurt sucks in a gasp, Blaine’s skin cold against his, he believes for the first time that Blaine understands that.

He’s still bleeding, he still feels things he knows he shouldn’t. This isn’t proof that Blaine thinks the same way, this isn’t concrete evidence that Kurt can jump and land on something and not fall and fall and fall -

This could just be what Blaine needs right now, and afterwards maybe he won’t say the words that Kurt can’t say.

Maybe Kurt will have to bleed forever.

But it doesn’t hurt anymore, and for now, that’s what he’ll be thankful for.

Lips colliding, missing and to the side and hitting his jaw and his neck and back again. Always finding the right spot, hitting those buttons that Kurt was made with.

Pulling apart reluctantly, Blaine’s eyes and lips a fraction of an inch away, and the colours are coming back, slowly.

You could stare at somebody forever and never see them. Or you could look at them for a second and see - everything.

 _Want_ their everything.

Want everything and want more. Blaine presses his body down, right above Kurt, and he didn’t know anything could ever feel so good, being close and not having to worry about an attack when you’re defenseless. Being close and wanting it, every inch of skin, every part of him over you and touching you and -

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Kurt asks, chest heaving, words scrapped down because he’s breathless.

Blaine’s glasses slide down his nose, blinking his eyes at Kurt before he pulls them off completely, setting them off to the side. “Not entirely.”

Smirking, finally having the strength to do more than smile, Kurt teases, “What about all that research you were doing?”

Blaine laughs, shakily, shrugging his shoulders. “Research is a lot more different than the real thing.”

Kurt’s ribcage might just shift with how hard his heart beats, slams, Blaine knocking on it, asking to come in.

The real thing. He never understood how people could want that, want people so much, be so willing to give up control and let people take and take -

His fingers are already working on the drawstring to his pants, pulling and tugging until it’s undone, heart and logical mind dancing together because nothing makes sense but this is the real thing, and it’s happening, and it’s with Blaine.

He could have cuts forever but this is Blaine -

Every line of protection gone, nothing, he doesn’t protest when Blaine pushes his shirt up more, beginning to take it off.

He thought they fit together before, but with Blaine - over him, pressing him down, touching and touching but never close enough - it almost feels like they were, like they could be, like they’re meant to -

For somebody who doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s doing it well.

And how could he not be visible, how could Blaine not see him when he’s bare and complete underneath him? Stripped and exposed, but he’s not scared of that, he’s scared of being - missed, skipped, passed by.

Stupidly in love, so stupidly, because he thinks there has to be a chance he loves him back - he wouldn’t be here if it was over -

Somewhere in all of it, between Blaine’s shirt being unbuttoned, a tentative kiss to Kurt’s neck, and Kurt finally being able to twist a curl around a finger - Blaine says, “If you need to stop, I’ll understand. I’m sorry - I’m -”

The next beat of his heart _hurts_ , and Kurt can only say one thing, because he can’t say anything else, not yet. “It’s okay.”

Again, he’s not sure if they’re on the same page, if they’re reading the same words, but does it really matter?

Once they’re taken apart, clothes on the floor and skin against skin, broken hearts trapped in locked chests, one over the other, there is no going back.

This can blow up in his face, Blaine can leave and Kurt can crumble and he’s being ridiculous but there are things in life you can’t control.

He thought he knew that before.

Blaine’s down to his boxers, and Kurt has to stop moving, holding onto Blaine’s arms to push him off just slightly.

And then he really can’t control a thing about the way he smiles, the way he laughs, the pulsing colour in his heart. “No Iron Man? I have to say, I’m slightly disappointed,” he whispers, running a finger over the waistband.

Blaine looks down between them, turning red from his face to his neck, and when he smiles, when he laughs and it’s the strange kind of laugh that melts ice, Kurt knows that what he’s feeling could never be uncertain.

“Sorry,” Blaine stammers, dropping his forehead to Kurt’s. “He’s in the wash.”

Movements speed up, he might overdose on kisses, each one igniting something he pushed down, away. He’s not scared, could never be scared anymore, he’s not dumb he knows - this is the real thing and Blaine just has to see - and there is no one else.

Failed tests and passed tests and missed sessions, too many nights laying there, confused, because suddenly he wanted to go to school, wanted to be seen - and how this all started and where they are now and was it ever supposed to work out?

Blaine was supposed to get into his school - Kurt wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

Blaine was supposed to _get it_ and Kurt wasn’t supposed to forgive him.

Here they are, broken hearts trapped in chests one over the other, and they wouldn’t be together if they weren’t supposed to.

Blaine asks, “Can I?” but doesn’t get a response, instead wrapping one hand around the back of Kurt’s knee, carefully pushing it up and leaning forward -

Like an immediate chemical reaction, Kurt lurches up, gasping because his mind’s been wiped clean, “Oh _\- fuck -_ ”

Even more immediate, Blaine pulls away, smoothing one hand over his hip and letting go of his leg.

“No -” Kurt shakes his head, thoughts already jumbled and scattered. Any ounce of bravery he has left bursts, making him place his hand over Blaine’s, locking it in place. “I want - more.”

More of what he doesn’t know.

Blaine still lets go, but catches his gaze. Intent and not looking away, staring deep. “Yeah - I can, we can do that - yeah -”

Blaine’s jolting from every nerve, shaking where his fingers splay out over Kurt’s hipbone, excited and maybe scared but he’s not breaking.

Whatever Blaine gives him, he’ll take.

A string of moments play out, each better than the last, each what he’s been waiting for, and then he’s naked and unguarded, and never in his life has he been so defenseless. Blaine looks down, over every inch of skin, over his chest where he vibrates with fireworks in his heart, to his eyes - and never in his life has he been so seen.

He almost says, because filters don’t exist and control is something he never had; _I love you._

Which is the truest thing he’s ever thought, felt, but it won’t fix this.

Together, nothing between them, no shields or walls or fences, they start a rhythm. Blaine pushing down, connecting, body heavy but perfect above his. Kurt lifts his leg back up, nervous and his heart has moved to his stomach but it feels so good and he needs - he wants - sparks and fire and words that haven’t been said -

“Wait,” Blaine says, voice scratching, quiet. His hand fits over Kurt’s side, pushing it down, body into the bed, and he settles over him, just enough, enough to make Kurt jolt and gasp and twist his head to the side - “I’ve never done something like this before.”

Swallowing down spite, venom, and he laughs nervously, not really meaning to. Before he looks back to him he has to blink, blink again because something is pricking his eyes, he just doesn’t know what. “Me neither.”

The warmth of his hand disappears, and Kurt looks back.

It takes one second of a shared gaze before everything comes crashing down around them. Lips catching his, and how does it feel new every single time - and Blaine bites, gently, whispers for what must be the millionth time, “- _I’m sorry_ -”

Rocking, rutting forward, connected skin and bodies buzzing and shocking, feeling so incredible he could combust - and the noises Blaine makes fuel a fire that can’t be extinguished, groaning and teeth gritting, but mostly, Kurt just wants his lips.

These things - what they’re doing now, what they could be doing with other people - don’t define who you are. You’re more than that. You’re more than anything that you do, more than the school you go to or the clothes you wear or the people you kiss.

You’re _you_. You’re more.

And even if this isn’t fixed and even if you never say it, you’re you and I want you to be mine and I want you to be - so much more.

His mind is space, full of thousands of stars and a million words but one meaning, only one meaning.

This universe they exist in isn’t fair. How you can be more but also not enough. But now he knows, now he can see, that not everything is permanent. The world can build again -

Blaine moves faster, more frantic, taking what he needs but also giving. Kurt keeps one arm around his neck, pulling him closer, he loves him so much and he can’t believe a little more than an hour ago he wanted him to fade from his memory.

One day _more_ will really mean more.

Kisses over his neck and pulse, his lips, and he looks him in the eyes and sees - and right now this is enough.

And then everything was alright.

Touching, fitting, skin too hot and wet and it couldn’t feel any better but it _does_. Blaine mumbles against his skin, against the only thing separating everything they are, but Kurt can’t quite hear it.

Perhaps, maybe, some words just aren’t meant to be heard, and some words aren’t meant to be said. Not yet.

There are problems and issues that will need repairing, but with bodies and hearts mixing, crashing, messy and electrifying - Kurt comes undone.

The world comes apart. Cities crash and walls break.

And now they can rebuild.


End file.
